by Jillian Dodd
To get you back into the story, we’ll start with Keatyn’s point of view from Kiss Me, which is in italics.
Friday, September 23rd
I wish we didn’t fight.
12:55pm
Keatyn
Garrett calls me as I’m leaving lunch. I tell Dawson that I have to take a quick call and send him off to his next class. I’m freaking out a bit because Garrett never calls me. He always texts me and has me call him back.
“What’s wrong?”
“Did you tell Vanessa where you are?”
“No.”
“Keatyn, it’s important that you tell me the truth. I won’t yell at you if you did. I know this has been hard on you, but if you did, it’s imperative that I know.”
“I swear to you on my sisters’ lives that I’m telling you the truth. What’s going on?”
“Vanessa may be missing.”
“Missing how?”
“She apparently posted something on Facebook about how she talked to you. That you wanted everyone to know you were getting better.”
“She just wants to act like she knows what’s going on.”
“Well, that may be, but she went to a club last night and RiAnne says no one has seen her since.” He swallows loudly. “Vincent was at the same club.”
“And you think something’s happened to her? But you told me if I kept my friends in the dark they’d be safe. Did you lie to me? Do you think he’s done something to her?”
“We don’t know. We aren’t running surveillance on him twenty-four-seven anymore.”
I’m shocked. “Why not?!”
“I was told to cut back.”
“By who?”
“James.”
“Is it a money thing?”
“I think they were pretty surprised at how much the bill was, yes. But in their defense, it’s been almost a month and we haven’t produced any compelling results. The goal was to gather information that we could use against him. Other than him being at the same places as some of your friends, his going to Oregon, New York, and a few coincidental Facebook things, we have nothing. Nothing we could take to a judge, anyway.”
“Do you think for my safety we should be watching him more?”
“I don’t know that twenty-four-seven is the answer, but, yes, I’d like to have the freedom to do what we think is best. For example, my man followed him to the club, but then went off duty.”
“From now on, you have the freedom to do what you think is best. Just bill me. And you need to give me more details about Vanessa because what you’re saying doesn’t make sense. Vanessa never went to a club alone. She made RiAnne and me go with her. And she may not have told RiAnne who she was leaving with, but she would have told her she was leaving. RiAnne was always her cover.”
“What do you mean, her cover?”
“It’s just not that unusual for her to go off with a guy for the weekend. And when she did that, she always told her dad that she was staying at RiAnnes. What did RiAnne say, exactly?”
“On her own wall, she said that Vanessa is missing, but on your Facebook wall she said, Vanessa is off radar and I’m going to be pissed if you two are having a reunion without me.
“Off radar means RiAnne has no idea where she is. You need to send her a message. Don’t write on her wall. Send her a direct message. Tell her that Vanessa is not with me. That I haven’t spoken to her or anyone else since my party. Tell her—and this is important—that I pinkie swear. She’ll come home, Garrett. She always does. I’m sure it’s just a coincidence that he was there.”
“Like it was just a coincidence that he was in New York at Brooklyn’s tournament? I don’t think so. When she comes home, Keatyn, I’d like her to come home alive. We can’t find Vincent either.”
“What do you mean?”
“We can’t find him. He’s not at home. Didn’t go to his office today. His assistant said she wasn’t sure when he’d be back.”
“Wow,” is all I manage to mutter out. My mind is going in a million directions. Trying to process it all.
“When she went off with guys before, did she go to the same place? Is there somewhere we can look for her?”
“Not really. She’d take off and come back with some amazing story. And pictures. Always pictures. Do you really think she could be with Vincent?”
“I don’t believe in coincidences.”
I remember her telling me that Vincent was hot that day at the hotel. “You might check The Chateau. It’s her favorite hotel and it’s where she met Vincent to begin with.”
“I’ll call you if I hear anything. You swear to me, she doesn’t know where you are? If she does, I want you out of there now. I’m serious.”
“I swear.”
I hit the end button on my phone with a shaking hand. I know at any moment I’m going to burst into tears. I can’t go to class.
I run my hand through my hair, look up, and see the chapel at the top of the hill. I put my head down and quickly walk toward it.
The heavy wooden doors open with a creak. Thankfully, no one is here. I choose a pew in the back row and plop down. I fold my hands and say a prayer.
Please, God, let Vanessa be okay. I don’t understand this. I gave up everything. My friends. My family. My home. I wanted to put as much distance as I could between us. I did it because I thought it would keep them safe. They told me it would keep them safe. I was so sure of my decision when I made it. I can still see the photo of the girls. I can still hear the voice in my head that told me they’d be safe. I don’t want anyone hurt because of me, and they are really the ones I did this for. They are the ones I gave my life up for. And I’ll give it up forever as long as those four little smiles stay safe.
Tears stream down my face as I’m praying, but when I think about the girls, I start bawling. I just put my face in my hands and cry. I miss them so much.
A hand touches my knee and a silky voice says, “Boots.”
I look up and Aiden’s eyes meet my tear-filled ones. Those green eyes that see straight through me. Those green eyes that always make me feel emotionally naked.
I close my eyes and start crying again. I don’t know why he’s here. He’s supposed to be mad at me. But he doesn’t act like he’s mad anymore. He wraps his arms around me and I melt into his chest.
Friday, September 23rd
I wish we didn’t fight.
12:55pm
Aiden
There’s something about the stillness of the chapel and the tears falling in black-mascara tracks down her beautiful face that make me stop in realization.
This girl is more than just a trophy to me. More than just a prize to be won and paraded around school on my arm. More than just a girl I want to get out of her plaid skirt.
She could be the girl.
The one I wished for that night.
The girl I never want to cry. The girl who puts a smile on my face even when she pisses me off.
With most girls, all I want to know is your room or mine?
I want to know everything about Keatyn. I want to meet her family, see her baby pictures, hear stories about her growing up. I want to know what makes her happy, what makes her sad, and if it's in my power, I don't want her to ever be sad.
I want her to have a life filled with love and happiness—and me.
That’s the truth. I’m in love with her.
Probably have been since she rushed down the hill, stole the soccer ball—with her dress and golden hair flying behind her, looking like a goddess—dribbled down the field, and kicked it right past me.
What girl does that?
What new girl does that?
But when she smirked at me, I saw more than beauty and challenge. I saw myself reflected in her unusual purple-blue eyes. I felt my soul awaken—my heart kick-started.
You hear about love at first sight, but never really believe in it. Never expect it will happen to you. Most of what I have experienced up until now falls into the lust-at-firs
t-sight category. She just feels different. She has brought out a range of emotions in me I didn’t realize I had.
The level of anger, jealousy, and rage she makes me feel drives me nuts.
But there’s more.
Desire and love mixed with a fierce need to protect her and to care for her.
I want to know what makes her tick, and what’s happened in her life to make her what she is today. She eludes confidence, but there’s something behind the curtain—just below the surface, is it sorrow? Or is she just homesick?
She closes her eyes and starts crying again.
I wrap my arms around her, causing her to practically melt into my chest. I try to soothe her by whispering in her ear. “Shhhh, it’ll be okay.”
Her body shudders, and she sobs a bit more. I slide my hand into her silky hair, causing the sweet scent of cotton candy to permeate my senses as I hold her tightly. I can hear her heartbeat against my chest. I swear, it feels like it beats for me.
“Why aren’t you in class?” she whispers.
I run my hand through her hair again, trying to calm her. “I saw you sitting on the bench, talking on your phone. You had your head down the whole time. I was waiting so I could apologize for last night. Again. It feels like I’m always apologizing to you. But when you looked up, I could tell by the look on your face that something was wrong. And when you marched straight to the chapel, I knew you must be really upset. What happened?”
“I got some bad news from my family. Um, my friend, she has this guy who has been stalking her. She’s maybe missing right now.”
“And they think the stalker might have hurt her? What was their relationship? Did they date?”
“No, they think it started when he saw a picture of her.”
“A picture?”
“Yeah. Um, my friend wanted to be an actress, and he saw a picture of her. They met. He flirted with her. Told her he wanted to make a movie with her. They actually had become friends. She thought he was nice. Until he tried to kidnap her.”
She’s telling me how all of this happened to her friend, but her hands are shaking, and the tears continue to fall. Why does it feel like she’s talking about herself? Why do I feel like there’s more to the story?
A lot more.
I try to make some sense of it. “So why isn’t the guy in jail?”
“She invited him to a party. There was a commotion. He told her he was taking her to a van out back. But she got away. A guy fought with him. The police came. They took her statement. She was hysterical. Threw up. She’d been drinking. It was her word against his. There was just not enough evidence.”
“That’s awful,” I say softly, pulling her back against my chest. “Tell me the rest.”
And she does. About how her friend’s family sent her away. How Keatyn can’t see her again. How they think this stalker is still after her friend. It’s crazy. And scary.
“I’m sure she’ll be okay. Is that why you came here? To pray?”
She nods her head. “Yes. And I knew if I went to class I would start crying. I wouldn’t want anyone to see me like this. I’m sure I look gross.” She hangs her head in shame.
I gently push her chin up. “I told you before. I doubt you’re ever gross.” Seriously, I’ve never seen someone look so beautiful when they cry. My sister’s face always turns bright red, her eyes get glassy, and her nose runs.
Keatyn delicately slides her finger across her cheek to wipe the mascara off her face as she turns to me. “Aiden, do you ever lie?”
“I don’t like to be lied to, so I try not to,” I reply, focusing more on the way she says my name. How it makes me stir in places I shouldn’t right now. She’s upset. Sex is the last thing that should be on my mind. But it’s there. God, it’s there. I can control myself around girls, but with her, it’s a constant struggle.
“My friend. She was afraid, so she left town. Just up and left. Didn’t tell very many people where she went. She’s living somewhere else under a different name. She’s meeting new people and making new friends, but she hasn’t told them what happened. Or that she’s using a new name. She feels like she’s living a lie.”
“Is she just lying about her name?”
“No, she has to lie about her past, too. She wasn’t famous, but her parents are. People would recognize her name.”
“Well, I’m sure her new friends would understand if they found out.”
She smiles, lies down and puts her head in my lap, then pulls her feet up onto the pew and curls up in a ball. “I’m afraid for her.”
When she speaks those words, a chill runs through me. But not because of her friend. I’m afraid for Keatyn—because she’s afraid. And I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something she’s not telling me.
I push her soft hair back off her face gently and run my hand across her cheek. She needs reassurance. And I want to be the one who kisses it and makes it better. “What I told you in class. Whenever you need me, I’m there. I know we were talking about tutoring, but it goes for everything. You can always come talk to me when you’re upset.”
She lets out a big sigh as fresh tears fall down her face. “No, I can’t. Half the time you’re mad at me. You got so mad at me last night. I really wish we didn’t fight, Aiden.”
“It bothers you?” Thank God.
“Yes, it bothers me. I like you. I wish we could be friends.”
“You know why I get mad, don’t you?” Because I’m jealous as hell.
“Yes. You jump to conclusions about things that you shouldn’t.” Wrong. “Half the time you don’t let me finish my sentence before you go storming off.” True, because she drives me nuts. “And then you pretend punch my head.” This makes me smile.
I bend down to kiss her forehead. “I’m sorry. I promise not to pretend punch your head ever again.”
“Thank you.”
My cell buzzes again, causing me to glance at it. “It’s my sister. She’s called me four times. Hang on.”
When I answer, Peyton goes, “Aiden! Where are you? Are you with Keatyn? Do you know what time it is?”
“Yeah,” I reply. “I didn’t realize it was that late. It’s fine. Don’t worry. And yes, she’s with me.”
“I don’t know what you are doing, but you both better get your asses to the field house. Now.”
I end the call, not needing to hear anymore.
“Are we in trouble for skipping French?” Keatyn asks.
“We didn’t just skip French, Boots. School’s out. You’re supposed to be in the dance locker room, and I’m supposed to be getting ready for the game.”
She sits up quickly. “What time is it?”
“5:45.”
“Ohmigosh! Are we going to be in trouble?”
The defeat in her face is like a blow to my gut. She doesn’t need more trouble. She’s been through enough today. And, maybe, she’s been through enough before she ever got here. I need to fix this for her.
“Tell you what. I’ll go talk to the Dean. You go get ready for dance.”
She attempts to clean up her face and straightens her sexy, red dance skirt. Her hair is damp around her face and causes her tendrils to curl a little. I give her a smile, then hold open the chapel door for her as she takes off running toward the field house.
Flavor of the week.
6:15pm
“You need to get to the locker room, son,” the Dean says after I explain what happened to Keatyn—how she got some bad news from home, how I saw her get a phone call and then go directly to the chapel, how upset she was, and why I hope she won’t be in trouble.
“Thank you, sir,” I say, knowing we won’t get any demerits or detentions.
“And, we need a win tonight,” he adds.
I leave the Dean’s office happy that at least Keatyn will have one less thing to worry about. I rush into the locker room, throwing on my pads and getting suited up.
“Nice of you to join us, Arrington,” Coach says, but thankfully he d
oesn’t press the subject. Probably because I’m never late, and he knows I must have a good reason for being so today.
But, unfortunately not everyone feels that way.
Dawson gives me shit the second he’s out of earshot. “What’s going on with you and Keatyn?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit. Tell me where you were all afternoon.”
“In the chapel.”
Dawson is all pumped up and mad. His hands are closed in tight fists, and he’s dying to take a swing at me.
“Get your head in the game, Dawson,” Jake says, stepping between us. “You two can duke it out after we win.”
But Dawson doesn’t back down. He gets in my face. “If you were hooking up with my girl, you better hope the game never ends.”
I don’t bother to tell him that regardless of what he thinks Keatyn is not his girl.
Because if she truly loved him, when she was upset, she would have gone to him. She would have told him everything, not me.
But the second it crosses my mind, I realize that’s not true. Because I know she didn’t tell me everything.
My thoughts are interrupted by the Coach yelling at the team. “Let’s get out there and win this one!”
I focus on the football game when I’m out on the field, but when I’m on the sidelines I watch Keatyn. She’s off—messing up her dances.
I study her face from across the field. She looks stressed out. Preoccupied. Obviously, thinking about her friend.
She’s not even really watching the game. Her eyes are constantly darting across the crowd—like she is trying to find someone she knows?
